


those who departed with regret

by sweetbun_trio



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Gen, Ghost Stories, Halloween, Regret, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27314656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetbun_trio/pseuds/sweetbun_trio
Summary: Sylvain is too anxious to sleep after Mercedes tells a spooky story.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	those who departed with regret

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a little discord challenge for Halloween. Prompts were 'Spooky Baked Treats/Trick or Treat,' 'Ghost,' 'and Prayers for the Departed' so I decided to see if I could fit them all in a drabble.

Sylvain turned over in bed for what felt like the thousandth time that night, but he could not get to sleep. 

The east-facing wing of the castle was illuminated by the moonrise and beams of silver light fell onto the four-poster bed and armchairs in their bedroom. Branches blowing in the wind outside the window made ghostly shadows slither across the ceiling.

He ran through the story Mercedes had told earlier that evening. It was one of those old stories, the kind of legend he usually just laughed off. He didn’t believe in any of that stuff.

But the story was eerily familiar to Sylvain, as if he’d heard it before, perhaps from his own mother...or one of his nannies as a child. He had listened as if in a trance. 

Their little family had been gathered around a plate of cookies, which Mercedes had helped their son and daughter to decorate to look like ghouls and ghosts from stories like the one she was telling. It was a popular tradition during the Wyvern Moon: a time that many in Faerghus associated with death, the earth and all living things seeming to die off or prepare to hibernate over the long cold winter.

Sylvain had been sitting in one of the big armchairs in front of the fireplace in the library with Emilie, looking at Mercedes seated in the other chair with Max in her lap. Outside the autumn winds were already blowing against the windows and the walls creaked. 

The fire cast dancing light and shadows across Mercedes’ face as she spoke. Her voice was soft and light, nearly a whisper in the otherwise dark room.

“Long ago, there lived a man. The man’s life was hard, and he hurt other people, and himself. He knew it was wrong, and he felt guilty, but he didn’t stop. While still young, the man died with regret in his heart. He felt regret for the way he had treated those he knew in life, and how he had failed himself.”

“What is...re...regret?” asked Emilie. It was a word Sylvain assumed the six year old had not heard before.

“It means you feel bad about something you did, and wish you had done something different,” Sylvain explained to his daughter. “Like the time you called Max a name when he accidentally broke your toy. You felt bad afterward because you love him and didn’t really mean it.” 

Emilie looked a little downcast at the example but had soon perked up when Mercedes picked back up and went on.

“After the man died he woke up in a terrible place. He felt as if he were suffocating, or he would have, if he could still breathe. It was somewhere cold and dark, and very lonely. All the man knew was that he wanted, desperately, to return to the light. He tried and tried to escape, digging through the earth. But he was trapped,” Mercedes had said, almost whispering. “He was trapped, forever unable to make things right, forever cursed to remember his wrongs.”

Sylvain rolled onto his back, willing sleep to come.

“I hope they aren’t up scared all night,” he had said as he and Mercedes had made their way to their quarters earlier after tucking in Max and Emilie.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine, Sylvain,” she said. “It’s just a story. I think you were more affected by it than they were.” 

He had brushed it off then but now he lay awake, anxious and wracked by a vague dread about the implications of the story. 

“Sylvain?” Mercedes’ said softly beside him. Her arm curled around to hug him and she pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. He flipped over again to face her. Her pale hair was silver in the moonlight, and her blue eyes shone with concern. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you. I just can’t sleep tonight.”

“Something is bothering you,” she said, knowing intuitively that he wasn’t ok. 

“Can’t stop thinking about the story you told, is all,” he mumbled reluctantly. “I think someone told it to me when I was little. Where did you learn it?”

“Oh it was from a book of ghost stories I’ve had for a long time,” she said. “The introduction to it did say that one originated in Faerghus, though, so it’s quite possible you heard it before.”

“The themes were definitely very Faerghan,” Sylvain said. “I just can’t stop thinking about all of the people I know who did die with regrets. Even Miklan. It would be horrible if they were doomed to just exist in a place like that forever.”

“Yes. I’ve often thought the same about Emile,” Mercedes said. “There isn’t much we can do about it. And no way to know for sure what happens to us when we die.”

“No I suppose not,” he said, closing his eyes.

“But, I hope you’ll join me in a prayer.” Mercedes clasped their hands together and touched her forehead to his. “Let’s pray for both our departed brothers.”

Sylvain was not a religious man, but he had always respected her devotion. He gave a small nod of his head, squeezing her hands back. 

“Goddess, hear our prayer,” she said. “Please bless the deceased with peace everlasting. Open your arms to receive those departed souls who died with regret and remorse. We thank you, Goddess, amen.”

“Amen,” Sylvain said, opening his eyes but holding fast to her hands. He was already feeling calmer, the agitation from earlier melting away. Mercedes was always there to protect him, whether it was in battle or from his own ghosts and anxiety.

He yawned, feeling the weight of that night’s sleepless hours. Clouds had obscured the moon and the room had darkened. They both turned so Mercedes could hold him. He always slept better with her arms around him. He snuggled further into the blankets and soon began to drift off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Twitter! [@sweetbun_trio](https://twitter.com/sweetbun_trio)


End file.
